Eagle Eye
by The Devil Wears Ariadoney
Summary: "I'm afraid we've been a tad careless." In which Luffy's parentage is a little stranger, and canon takes a road less traveled. (No DF!Luffy)
1. Chapter 1

Title: Eagle Eye

Series: One Piece

Summary: "I'm afraid we've been a tad careless," are the first words out of the woman at his doorstep, and somewhere in the process of voicing his indignant annoyance, Dracule Mihawk abruptly learns the meaning of gobsmacked. Inspired by that two-shot what-if thing I wrote.

**Eagle Eye**

A One Piece Fanfiction

by The Devil Wears Ariadoney

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"I'm afraid we've been a tad careless," are the first words out of the black-robed woman standing at his threshold one misty morning. Somewhere in the process of voicing his indignant annoyance, Dracule Mihawk is sidetracked by a different matter and in that moment that he abruptly learns the meaning of _gobsmacked. _Several possible questions come to the forefront of his mind; they do not include the more reasonable ones such as 'what are you doing here,' or 'how did you find this place'— in the minuscule pool of those likely to have mastered the art of finding him even in the most remote places, such as the out-of-the-way manor he was currently inhabiting, it would certainly include Monkey D. Dragon— but can't seem to manage anything _better _to address the matter at hand.

"What," he says in monotone, "is _that?" _

'That' being the wriggling, squirming infant in Dragon's arms. The look he receives is wry.

"Our son," she says as if such a statement is the most natural thing to say in the world, "I'm coming in. He's hungry, and we've been on the move all day."

The woman then proceeds to brush past him as if she owns the place, and Mihawk lets her, still very much in shock. By the time Dragon has made herself at home and produced a bottle for the fussy baby does he finally _look _at thing— infant— boy? as it— he— quiets enough to suckle happily at the food source provided.

"How did this happen," Mihawk says flatly, and Dragon _does _roll her eyes at that.

"Well, when a man and a woman—" she begins in a voice dripping with sarcasm; he quickly rescinds the question with a wave of his hand. He's usually not anywhere as… _tongue tied_ as this, but. It's a _baby. _And, sadly, it is not lost on him that his last encounter with Dragon had been just a little under a year ago. By now he'd experienced hundreds of battles and life-threatening situations, but absolutely nothing has prepared him for anything remotely like this, and it's an _odd _feeling, being so utterly bewildered.

So Mihawk takes a deep, calming breath to order some of the very conflicting emotions he's struggling with right now.

"My… apologies, I suppose," he says carefully. Dragon throws her head back and laughs so hard that the bottle jostles out of the baby's mouth and he whines in complaint.

"We're equally to blame," she smirks, "This is really only a courtesy call. I thought you at least had the right to know, seeing as he's fifty percent your handy work."

"Be as it may, I'd can't say I appreciate the thought," Mihawk grumbles despite himself. He has kept a wary eye on her composure, but it seems that Dragon has not come bearing any ill will. No, she's oddly at ease, sitting there and feeding the tiny child in her arms as if it's the most natural thing in the world, but nonplussed at his lack of enthusiasm. It's… strange, goes against most of what he knows of the stern, brooding woman so deeply entrenched in her ideals he simply can't imagine her taking to the position of motherhood, and yet—

"I admit I wasn't too pleased when I first found out, but," she shrugs. "Things change. I won't be keeping him though."

That catches his attention.

"Oh?"

"Not forever. A little too dangerous in my current line of work, and right now I cannot afford any… distractions." The tone shift is faint, and gone in seconds, but Mihawk's keen eye also catches the flicker of muted emotion in her normally poised face. He says nothing. Dragon shakes her head minutely to the side, hand clenching around the bottle, but soon these small signs pass and she is now seemingly unruffled.

"He'll go to my father, most likely," she says. The statement sounds equally aimed at herself as it does to Mihawk,"Unless…" An eyebrow arches as she looks to him, now. "You had any particular desire for custody?"

"Absolutely not," Mihawk says instantly, and she chuckles.

"Fair enough. It's just that, well, blood connections to a feared Revolutionary such as I will do him no good."

"And such connections to a Warlord are any better?"

"Maybe so." Dragon hesitates; she's in some thought. "Ah… another partial reason for this visit was to warn you, in a way."

"…Warn me?" he says warily, just as the baby finishes his bottle and begins to kick and complain, drawing Dragon's attention so that the reply is absent in her divided attention.

"Mostly that he's inherited some of your defining features. They're a bit hard to miss. Thought you should know."

What. He's unwillingly drawn to the baby again and this time Mihawk actually looks, though what she means isn't readily apparent. He's pale, which doesn't necessarily mean anything. His hair is dark, but so is his mother's, and he really doesn't see until he sees the eyes. Cross-eyed and unfocused as they are, they're also a very piercing shade of gold. The very same shade he's seen before, in mirrors, and reflected in the frightened eyes of terrified foes just moments from being vanquished.

...That _is _distinctive. Too distinctive.

"Sorry," Dragon shrugs as Mihawk stiffens, because to those who would _know _there is no questioning this child's heritage, not when he shares the same fearsome eyes that had given him his moniker, known throughout the oceans.

"So I'm to be saddled to this no matter what my say is," he groans, again with the highly conflicting feelings that included some amount of helpless frustration. The woman across from him frowns.

"Again, we had equal parts in this, and I'm not expecting anything in particular from you," Dragon says, though this time a little reproachfully. She sighs, deflates. "This is also much to take in all at once. Perhaps I've taken all the necessary time I've needed."

And just like that, she arranges the child in her arms and stands, and the meeting is over. She'd come to speak her piece, and had done so, and breezes to the door without so much as a word from him otherwise. She does pause, though, turning back briefly as she raises her hood.

"His name is Luffy," she says. "If you choose to keep this as your only interaction with him, I will not blame you." A pause. "Garp may be in an idiot, but I can't guarantee he won't catch on once he sees his grandson's features, so prepare yourself." Another pause. Then, one last quieter statement. "This… will be the last time you see me like this. We have grown… too close, I think."

…He does not bade her farewell, only inclines his head, and then Dragon is gone. Her last words play themselves back, several times over, echoing with everything else he's just seen and heard and Mihawk finds that he needs either a good fight or a very strong drink, or both most preferably both in order to process this entire morning. Shanks was somewhere in paradise the last he'd heard, not that he planned to breath a _word _of this to his rival.

Somehow he can't shake the tiny golden eyes from memory, and there they stay in the corner of his mind despite every effort otherwise.

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"Lol what if Mihawk were Luffy's dad" aka Garp has a daughter instead of a son, she runs into a future warlord on the day of Roger's execution, and they have an on-and-off thing for some years. Yeah, I don't know either, but I wanna write it.

I also don't have a real actual plot for this though, so what I'm probably going to do is a bunch of non-linear short entries on interactions and the changes this causes in certain situations while ignoring the deeper, more complicated implications this technically would bring to the main story lmaoooo.


	2. Chapter 2

.II.

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Roronoa Zoro would never admit to his oversights, except begrudgingly, in certain rare situations. This was, of course, absolutely not one of those situations, but nine days in to his month-long sentence and he's starting to think that maybe, possibly, he was a bit hasty in submitting to this whole deal thing. Not that anyone would hear it from him, least of all that weasel-y little Helmeppo. But with yet another hot, cloudless day to look forward to on top of several other hot, cloudless days, with no food and barely any water, sun's rays beating down on his head, arms stretched painfully back, weight unevenly distributed on his shoulders, the occasional beatings on top of it all—

Well, he's starting to feel a bit stretched thin, is all. He does, of course, still have just enough energy to make it through the other twenty-one days remaining without a problem, but— no, no buts. He has the will; therefore the way is no problem. But…. if someone conveniently felt the need to hop the fence and let him go, or, at least get him a glass of water, he sure as hell wouldn't complain about it right now.

The little girl who'd started this whole thing doesn't count. He's especially annoyed right now because she'd just climbed over the fence to try feeding him, only to get tossed right back over by Helmeppo and his guard, and damn if he doesn't want her making things worse for herself by doing something stupid like sticking her neck out for him. She's just a kid, who doesn't need to get caught up again in all this.

Anyway, he's thinking about maybe bribing something really extravagant, like a whole bounty, to the next person who sticks their head over the wall to check if he's still breathing (maybe one of the marines, they might be desperate enough) when suddenly he's aware of the fact that someone has actually stuck their head over the wall, and is openly staring, seemingly unconcerned that the action alone could get them executed.

"What?" he says, grimacing from the bone-dry rasp that's been his voice for a few days.

"You're the demon bounty hunter, huh?" the guy says, and he's grinning. There's frantic sounds beyond the fence, forced whispering as someone tries to tug him out of sight.

"Yeah, and?"

"Nothing. You just don't look like much."

…Okay, screw this guy.

"You're not that memorable yourself," he snaps, but the guy's grin just gets wider and Zoro is Annoyed now. "Look, beat it. They'll do worse than throw you over the fence if they catch you."

"Nah, they couldn't," the other says as he shakes his head. Who the hell does this guy think he is? It takes some squinting to focus properly (things have been kind of wavy recently,) but it's enough to make out the pale-skinned, black haired kid as he keeps staring in a way that's getting a bit creepy now. A hat or something hangs on his back by a cord; more to his interest though, there's a sword hilt poking over his shoulder.

"You ever considered being a pirate?" the apparent pirate says suddenly.

"Wha— why the hell would I?"

"Why not?"

"I_ catch_ pirates. For money," Zoro says in disbelief, but the intruder is undaunted.

"Nobody's perfect!" he says cheerfully, "I'm looking for good guys to join my crew. What do you think? If I untie you would you say yes?"

"You think— if you just untie me—" he sputters as he tries wrapping his head around that one; it's a bit much for his fuzzy thoughts to comprehend right now and Zoro almost laughs from the absurdity of it. "Look," he says, "Look— that's not my kind of deal. Go find someone else to join your crew. I've got my own plans, and they don't include throwing them away to be a pirate of all things."

The pirate shrugs.

"If you say so. It's just, lasting a whole month like that sure sounds rough for a normal person."

"Yeah, well, I'm not a normal person. One month? No sweat. That idiot Helmeppo promised. I hold up my end of the bargain, he holds up his, and that's all there is to it. Now scram."

He doesn't immediately scram, but finally he nods, drops down behind the wall. Zoro breathes a sigh of relief, chokes on it as the guy pops back up.

"Rika's fine by the way! We caught her." Oh. "And I'll be back later. Just think about it, will you?"

"Not gonna happen," Zoro mutters irritably, but then he's finally alone, it's finally quiet, and he commits himself to another grueling day in the parade ground, just one more check mark on the calendar towards freedom.

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The guy comes back. This time he bypasses the wall entirely and walks brazenly up to the post he's tied up on. Zoro's about to be annoyed, but the words die on his tongue as he gets a good look at the guy and unlike the carefree attitude from before, this time he is _angry. _

"Where'd they take your swords?" says the pirate— outwardly nothing has changed, but there's genuine rage bubbling up in those words alone, and up close like this it's easier to see the guy's eyes and how they've narrowed— they're a weird yellow, and more intense than anything he's seen before.

"…the idiot son took 'em," he says warily, and the pirate immediately starts charging towards the marine base proper, the straw hat on his back bouncing on the cord tied around his neck. "Hey! _Hey!_ Stop! What are you, _stupid_? That's a _fortress!_"

The pirate spins around momentarily, and his answering grin is anything but carefree.

"Be right back," he says— as he leaps fence again and disappears from sight.

Even though Zoro can't see anything from his position, he definitely still hears as the guy loudly _challenges Captain Morgan to a duel. _The marines that come out in response are equal parts shocked and appalled; they start spouting things along the lines of proper channels and propriety and Marine protocol and how Captain Morgan is currently indisposed anyway until the swordsman gets impatient and says "Fine, if he won't come to me then I'll just go to him," and after the protest of the marines die away it's suspiciously quiet.

Did he… did he _invade the marine base? _No… even for a pirate he couldn't be _that _stupid…

Then giant chunks of stone start falling from the top of the fortress. The edges are shorn as clean as a hot knife through butter. Followed by a whole lot of yelling. Then there's some kid standing in front of him trying to untie him and honestly what the hell is going on here—

…execution?

"But… that idiot son said—" Zoro says numbly, even as the kid, Colby, clumsily fumbles with the knots holding him back.

"No! Helmeppo lied!" says Colby through his fear, "They were gonna execute you three days from now. Luffy got real mad and it was really scary, and he said… he said he'd make things right!"

Luffy? That's the pirate's name? "He did? But… why?"

"Because… I don't know, I still don't know how he thinks, but what I _do _know is that he's gonna do it or die trying. And I also know that this marine base is rotten and-and you're imprisoned unfairly!" The resolve gathers on his face, and the ropes binding one of Zoro's arms falls away as he continues, "I'm not saying you should become a pirate or anything, but Luffy's really strong so if you work together then maybe you can help each other escape—"

Whatever else Colby means to say is lost as part of the wall surrounding the parade ground explodes in a shower of brick and mortar revealing Luffy, laughing his head off, pursued by what looks like half the marines on base _and _an apoplectic Captain Axe-Hand Morgan. Luckily they don't seem to notice their escaping prisoner, but Luffy does. In one smooth motion he plants a foot firmly against the ground and spins—"Hey Zoro, _catch!"—_ using the momentumto throw the three katana he'd awkwardly bundled under one arm towards their proper owner. In the same motion he brings the now free hand up to grasp what he'd had in his other— the hilt of a longsword, its silvered edge flashing in the bright sunlight.

It's one of those slo-mo moments that stays with Zoro for a long, long time. The first thoughts that cross his mind are how he's going to kick this guy's ass for throwing his treasured blades so casually; then, panic as the collective marines raise their muskets on captain's order and fire, a deadly hail of lead that normally would pepper holes in an unfortunate victim. Luffy doesn't even hesitate, though, just raises his sword and—

Does nothing, to the untrained eye, just makes a broad, almost _lazy _stroke as bullets whizz through the air and embed themselves literally anywhere else. Zoro does not have an untrained eye. Somehow this pirate had just altered the path of the bullets before they even reached him in a display of beautifully subtle bladework beyond anything he's seen before, enough to weave his way through and emerge completely unharmed. To the marines it looks almost like magic; eyes bulge, doubt sets in as their weapons waver and some of the collective nerve gives way.

Captain Morgan is a little more collected. Enough to order them all to drop their guns and just draw their sabers because it's only one swordsman, what could he possibly do against a whole crowd of trained marines? Hurry up and _kill _this insurgent who dared move against him, the great Captain Morgan, and still absolutely no one has noticed that Roronoa Zoro is one arm free, and has just caught his swords.

Everything after that?

_Easy._

_._

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Again, Roronoa Zoro would never admit to his oversights, but, well, going nine days without food or water was actually pretty tough, and he does let slip as much. Luffy laughs over his own plate, but at least Rika and her mother are more than happy to cook enough to bring him back to a much better physical state.

"Sooo, did you give it any thought?" Luffy says through a mouthful of food.

"What?"

"Join my pirate crew!" Oh, for— not this again.

"My answer's the same, moron," Zoro says, "Sorry, I don't have any plans on becoming a pirate." The other only hums, crossing his arms and tilting his head to the side.

"Hmm… even though you crossed blades with the marines and all? They outlaw people for that." He's a little too innocent in the delivery. Zoro scowls, because he'd been trying not to think about it too much. "You might as well join my crew and get it over with…"

"Okay, fine, I might be an outlaw," he says irritably, "But that doesn't mean I drop everything and become a pirate. I have goals. Goals that don't include piracy."

"Aw, you sure? What are your goals anyway?"

He only hesitates for a second. This guy's a swordsman too, so he should understand, shouldn't he? "I'm going to be the world's greatest swordsman," Zoro says simply, "And that's why I don't have time to go and be a pirate, of all things."

Luffy _springs_ up and slams his hands against the table in a clatter of plates and cutlery. He's gaping for some reason, mouth a perfect '_o.' _

"You want to be the world's greatest swordsman?" he exclaims; suddenly he's near vibrating with some kind of energy. "Then you _have _to join my crew!"

"…What's that have to do with anything?" Zoro asks, fighting back the urge to edge away as Luffy… starts laughing, collapsing back in his seat.

"Well, it's just—it's just, you think you're up to beating 'Hawkeye' Mihawk?"

…That comes as a bit of a surprise, hearing the name of his self-sworn rival casually dropped into conversation like this.

"You know him?" Zoro says a little wearily; Luffy stifles back another round of laughter as he nods.

"Do I— yeah. Yeah! I do. Of course," he says. Something clicks. Comprehension of a sort dawns.

"…You _know _him," he repeats with different intonation, suspicious, because that can't be it. No way. Luffy looks off to the side and… whistles?

"Maaaybe," he says, and now it's Zoro's time to slam his fists into the table. His mouth is dry, and not from dehydration. His hands have started trembling, but not from nerves, rather the effort keeping him back from making Luffy tell him _everything _he knows about That Man that he's not sharing—

"Quit messing around! You know Hawkeye? You _know _him? Do you know how to find him?"

"I don't know how to find him, but—" Luffy's eyes are almost sparkling, "—if you join my crew, then maaaybe we'll run into him. So about that pirate thing…"

It can't be that easy, Zoro thinks. All his life searching the east blue, searching for any info on the whereabouts of the man said to be the greatest swordsman in the world, how to find him, how to challenge him… and this guy, this pirate, suddenly appears in front of him claiming to _know _him? Some pirate he's never even heard of before, who can't even keep a straight face about it, who just assumes Zoro will join his crew at the drop of a hat based on his word alone?

…a pirate with enough skill to slice up solid stone statues with a sword alone, who faced a volley of bullets and parried them aside like they were nothing, who had gotten his swords back on his behalf even when it meant storming a marine base, and didn't seem to want anything in return— holding his swords hostage is something he'd expect a pirate would do, but Luffy hadn't brought up the topic even once—

A chance was a chance. There was a chance Luffy was lying through his teeth. But there was equally a chance that he _wasn't. _Damn it all. _Damn_ him.

"_Dammit_," Zoro swears again, out loud this time, because somewhere along the way his mind had made itself up without him, and by Luffy's feral grin, by the look of smug triumph in his weird eyes, he absolutely knew it.

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I uhhh like third person limited in present tense.

Just establishing some of the back and forth I'm planning on ie going between the present storyline so to speak and then with past stuff.

And thank you for the response! I'm glad other people are as down for this concept as I am lol. (I absolutely can't wait for Shanks too.)


	3. Chapter 3

**.III.**

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It's the curiosity, in the end.

Or maybe the boredom…? The two are much too hard to differentiate these days, really; but there is certainly _some _driving action behind Mihawk's hand the moment it sets a course for the East Blue. A log pose to Goa Kingdom had been easy enough to procure, despite how unwanted the knowledge had been in the first place. Damn that Garp. Dragon had been right, the one meaningful encounter he'd had with the man had been… distinctly unpleasant. While Garp had made it very clear he neither expected nor wanted any contact between his new grandson and his biological donor, and had sworn up and down that Mihawk wouldn't hear a word from him on where the child was staying…

...On one hand he kept that word and maintained a chilly silent treatment of the warlord from that moment onward. On the _other _hand, it wasn't hard to pick things up anyway given that the vice admiral would not _shut up_ talking about his grandson to literally anyone else who would listen. Luckily Mihawk didn't have to count on being in contact with him on a regular basis, but the first time he overheard Garp blatantly running his mouth about his cute grandson who would no doubt grow up to be a fine, outstanding marine someday, who already took after _his_ side of the family so much and that he was currently very happily being raised back in his hometown in the Goa Kingdom, you know, Windmill Village, a peaceful bay town on the other side of the island, couldn't miss it, friendliest place around—

Well. It was one damn time too many. Mihawk had fervently scrubbed the information out of his mind and set out to pick a fight with someone strong enough to make it stick.

Maybe the resounding disappointment on that front was the reason the first seed of curiosity had taken root, and refused to be removed. In the first year it was easy enough to shake away; the denial was still strong enough, then. And Dragon had come and gone so quickly, not nearly enough time to process, but… by the second year, less so. He was secure in his position as World's Strongest Swordsman, but too much so— all his fights these days were too easy, too… boring. Shanks was a challenge still, but he had no interest in Mihawk's title, and there was no one else with nearly enough skill to pose a threat these days. So in his boredom, between the infrequent demands his position required, idle thoughts turned to Goa Kingdom, and to Windmill village. As much as he didn't want them to.

By the third year, the intrusive thoughts morphed into some kind of frustrated curiosity. Back at Marine HQ, Garp still spoke glowingly of his grandson no matter who happened to be in earshot. Everyone seemed used enough to his rambling to the point that they tuned out as soon as he got started. Garp's grandson this, Garp's grandson that… Did _anyone _know, Mihawk idly wondered, anything at all about the boy other than his relation to the vice admiral? The more he thought, the more he wondered if that was Garp's play all along, to desensitize everyone around him to the point that no one would willingly go out of their way to ask questions if it meant being flooded with the inane babbles of a besotted grandparent. All the better to keep the deeper, more meaningful questions away, such as on the issue of parentage.

Yes, being blood-related to one of the seven warlords would be no easy thing for the Marines, or the World government, to overlook, but they rested assured that they had said warlords more or less by the leash no matter how far the lead ran (a thought that still rankled more often than not.) As it stood Mihawk felt zero personal connection to the… thing out there even if it did share his eyes, and the Government would be sorely disappointed if they tried holding it against him. But things had been suspiciously quiet on that matter. He had the suspicion it was on account of the other half of the equation.

Monkey D. Dragon was making a name for herself, and that name had created exceedingly large waves through the oceans. Despite the efforts of many, the Revolutionaries had gained a firm foothold in world events and this had not gone unnoticed. That she had become such a threat in the eye of the world government was an ugly black spot in their otherwise stable books, and they were getting desperate enough that _any _chance to remove her from power would be taken, at any cost. It was a wonder that Monkey D. Garp still had his position. Bad enough that the daughter of a man with such a stellar record had gone so against the grain, that she'd had a child with a _warlord _of all things was another slap in the face.

It was _almost _amusing, actually. It could only be through the sheer strength of Garp's reputation that the child was being left along at all. A better chance than most. Though, given Garp's confidence in his grandson's future career path, there might be more at play. Yes, better for the child to be known as the grandson of one of the Marine's finest and only that, rather than the son of the revolutionary… and the warlord. The curiosity, though… oh, the curiosity, the grim humor of it all that such a child existed and was allowed to exist… it was _interesting. _More the concept than the child himself, and that he'd contributed to this paradox like it or not.

In the fourth year, this paradoxal child became the sole point of interest in an increasingly monotonous life. And so, in a mixture of boredom, of curiosity, of the memory of a woman who can't seem to stop meddling in his life long after she's abruptly left it, Dracule Mihawk sets a course and sails for the East Blue.

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Kind of expositional for this one, I just wanted to finish it. Next one should be mostly dialogue lol.

…errr do you think Garp would openly talk about Windmill village...? Maybe just to other marines…? Well he does here but only in earshot of the high ranking folks who probably have access to that knowledge anyway but also to warlords who conveniently aren't supposed to be hearing it anyway lmao.


	4. Chapter 4

.IV.

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As it turned out, Luffy had no maps and didn't know a lick of navigating. At best he knew east and west from the position of the sun, but at worst even this was unreliable as he confused himself when the sun was in the exact middle of the sky, during which every direction turned into both east and west. Especially at sea, with no landmarks in sight. This was not good; it was all too easy to pick a direction and sail right past landfall without even knowing it, thus common sea knowledge strongly recommended having at least a navigator on board for any kind of voyage.

Not that Zoro was any kind of navigator himself; in the past he'd just relied on others to do the job (ie a certain pair of bounty hunters he'd teamed up with for a bit.) Anyway, he could never seem to find a sea chart that was actually accurate, given that whenever he tried a hand at learning the maps were always wildly incorrect. He'd try setting course for one island only to end up on another that was supposed to be in the opposite direction, or landing in a port that wasn't supposed to be there, and vice versa. East Blue mapmakers were all terrible at their jobs. It was no wonder he'd given up if they couldn't mark their islands in the right place. So, he'd dryly recommended to his new captain that a navigator was a higher priority than a musician or even a cook (how would they cook food if they couldn't even find it first to stock up on) and left it at that.

As for the rest of the sailing situation… The small boat was just wide enough to stretch one's legs out on, but not much else to do, other than making sure the sail was holding up and doing its job. As the boredom set in and supplies dwindled, the distinct lack of options led to natural conclusions; that is, to do as boys do and compare swords.

"Wow," Luffy said, eyes wide as Zoro gingerly held Kuina's blade horizontally outwards, catching the light on its peerless edge, "That's really, really good folding. Nice hamon. Your sensei really just gave it to you?"

"More or less," said Zoro. On Luffy's request he'd given a short, edited version of the story behind his most treasured blade; he didn't feel like spilling the full emotional story out to a guy that was still basically a stranger, fellow swordsman or not. Luckily, Luffy didn't comment on some of larger holes in the tale— or simply didn't notice— and only hummed, tilting his head and squinting at the sword in question.

"Hmm… you know, apparently there's a bunch of swords out there that are super special and have fancy names and everything," he mused, "you think that's one of them? I never remembered any but it looks like it could be."

"Maybe? It has one, but I don't really care about that stuff." He slid the katana back into its sheath. Name, no name, it didn't really matter. It was the sword of a dear friend, and the symbol of a promise. That was all.

"Those other two are kind of crap, though," Luffy said with a pointed look at his other swords. Zoro's eye twitched. He refrained from commenting, because while they did their job and had served him faithfully, they'd also come from the bargain bin at the local blacksmith back home, picked out when he'd started transitioning from shinai to real blades and couldn't afford new, personalized ones.

"So… what about you? Not many long sword users in these parts," he said, changing the subject to nod at the blade at Luffy's side. Due to its length, too long to lay on Luffy's back while they sat, it now rested against the side of the boat. Luffy himself needed no prompting; his eyes lit up, and his posture straightened.

"Yeah, but my dad uses one so that's what I learned with! He's the one who taught me how to fight. I had to really bug him, though. Then my grandpa got really mad and tried showing me how to use a saber but he wasn't very good at it."

As he spoke, he gripped the hilt and swung the sword around in a flourish. Now, there hadn't been any who used them back at his more traditional dojo, and he personally hadn't touched one himself, but Zoro could appreciate a good sword when he saw one. As a bounty hunter he'd run into a few criminals who'd boasted a long sword, but none of them had used them with any sort of real skill, depending more on their intimidation factor than the knowledge of actual swordplay. In stark contrast, Luffy couldn't be more at ease, even as he held a blade longer than his torso at a vertical angle— one handed, to boot, without visible strain. That thing obviously wasn't very light.

"It got a name?" Zoro asked, mildly interested now that the named-sword thing had been brought up.

"Yeah! But, uh… it's… uh…" Luffy trailed off. His eyes narrowed in thought as he frowned, then shook his head. "Something fancy and long, and I forgot it. That's okay, though. I just call it Hiru."

Not a bad name. Whatever process used to forge it had left the sword with a bright, sterling surface, a step below mirrored. It almost seemed to glow under the afternoon sun, gathering and reflecting light with ease until it seemed almost pure white. The guard was especially ornate, with an inlay of gold and small gems, and the hilt wrapped in dyed blue leather. Zoro wasn't big on decoration, as such ornamentation usually meant a loss of durability in the sword itself, but he didn't get that same feeling for this one. Case in point, it had taken on an entire marine squad and a direct blow from Axe-Hand Morgan, without even a scratch.

"It's pretty impressive. Can't be easy swinging it around."

"Yeah. A bunch of the training I did first was weight and control stuff. I didn't actually get to touch a sword for ages, and even then I had to start with a stick." Luffy huffed, scowling at some past memory, then brightened again. "This is nothing compared to my dad's sword, though! It's longer than I am!"

"Yeah?"

"Yep! It's really, really cool. I really wanted to try swinging it but he never let me." Another scowl as Hiru returned to the deck next to him. "Oh well. I'll get to someday."

"So, your dad… he must be pretty strong then," said Zoro. Considering the skill he'd seen Luffy display in only one encounter, he could only imagine the skill of the one who'd taught him. Oddly, the other stifled a laugh.

"Oh, he's definitely the strongest," he said, then covered his mouth as his shoulders shook with repressed giggles. Zoro eyed him, but decided it wasn't worth it and just rolled his eyes. Eventually, Luffy managed to quiet down. There was a brief pause, filled with the quiet snap of the sails, and the waves against the sides of the boat.

"He said I could have it," he said, out of the blue, "His sword, I mean. I used to ask him all the time, so maybe he was just making fun of me, but… He said if I could beat him in a match, I could have his sword."

"You don't say." Zoro yawned as he stretched, settled back for a nap. He was losing interest now that the conversation topic was changing, though he kept an ear out regardless.

"I don't think I can, though." Luffy rested his head on one hand, staring thoughtfully into the distance. "If I really wanted to beat him I think I'd have to give up on my dream, and I don't want to. When I told him so he was kind of disappointed… He stopped training me after that." The tone of his words was subdued, though only a moment before he shrugged, and the slightly odd mood dissipated. "But then he gave me Hiru, so I guess its fine! And then I told him I'd just find a really strong guy who _could _beat him, and then he'd have to give me his sword."

He stared intently at Zoro for the last part, who felt the intensity of it and cracked open a reproachful eye.

"…Oi," he deadpanned, "Don't sign me up for fights without my permission."

"Aw…"

"If we run into the guy and he puts up a good challenge, then sure, maybe I'll give it a go, but it's not _my _goal in life to beat up people's dads."

"If you say so." Luffy shrugged again, but with a maddening self-assured smirk as he did so. He didn't like it, but decided to ignore this strange confidence as well. Speaking of, however, he was curious about a passed-over subject that hadn't come up until now.

"What's your dream anyway?" Zoro asked… right as Luffy abruptly stood, leaned out towards the water with a curious expression.

"Huh?" said the pirate absently, shading his face with a hand as he peered over the waves.

"Your dream. You mentioned it a moment ago. I told you my dream, it's only fair you tell me yours. What are you hoping to get out of this pirate thing?"

"Oh, me? I'm going to be King of the Pirates. Didn't I mention it?"

A beat.

"_What?_" Zoro choked, then was unceremoniously thrown off balance as Luffy threw a foot up on the sides of the boat and shook the whole thing. "Hey, quit it! You'll capsize us!"

"Hey Zoro, how fast can you row?"

"How fast can I— wait, don't change the subject!"

"It's just that there's three guys in the water way over there, and I think they're drowning?"

"I— huh? How— Why're you waiting for me to do it then?"

"Because I'm the captain, duh, and it's weird when two people row at once."

Thus the matter was promptly dropped in favor of impromptu rescue— even though the shipwreck survivors turned out to be gypped pirates, which lead to another sort of adventure, and Zoro never did quite get Luffy to elaborate on his casual remark.

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The last chapter was shorter so I figured it would be nice to get this up quicker. Luffy… Please stop baiting Zoro... he doesn't even know yet….

I saw the chance, I took it; Hiru - 昼

Thank You for the kind reviews!


	5. Chapter 5

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A Warlord in the East Blue was very much akin to finding a Sea King in a frog pond. So ludicrous, so outrageous in terms of the pecking order of the world that it might even be too hard for the frogs— no, tadpoles, even— to even comprehend that the Sea King is there at all, so massive it might be. Even if the Sea King threatens to squash the tadpoles in their entirety if it so twitches a muscle.

Conversely, the tadpoles entirely notice the large and unexpected guest crowding into their pond, but fail to recognize the Sea King for what it is given that a frog pond is very far away from the open ocean that is the Sea King's rightful home— and simply regard this guest a large and interesting curiosity merely passing by.

Perhaps he is putting too much thought into this frog analogy, Mihawk thinks, as he sets foot onto the sole dock of Windmill Village. He leaves his small ship in the care of two dock workers who are open in their gawking, gesturing and whispering to each other as they lash the ship to berth; Yoru seems to deter them from becoming too curious for their own good.

The rest of the village is much the same, as all the villagers look on with open curiosity at this stranger in their midst, without a shred of recognition in their eyes. It's both a novelty, and… disconcerting. Vexing, even, and several folk avert their eyes from his glowering and keep their distance. Now that Mihawk is here, he does not like how restless he already feels—He has no desire to approach a villager to ask inane questions when he does not even know what he's looking for. Somehow, he'd expected more, and not… this. A tiny, unprotected village that doesn't even have paved roads, let alone anyone who might know the sharp side of a blade from the dull one.

Nevertheless Mihawk doesn't let his guard down— he's lived too long to start so now— and therefore he notices instantly the gaze of one man who _does_ look at him with something other than badly disguised curiosity. No, this one looks at him with fear. Terror, even, shaking down to his boots… as he approaches the warlord unbidden and unasked. Some steel in him, then. Nearby village folk notice his manner and the air changes somewhat to one of unease.

"We are simple folk here," are the first words from the old man's mouth— his teeth are chattering something fierce, but he manages all the same. "And if it's all the same I ask that you cause no trouble for us, sir Warlord."

Ah. So he does recognize something of him. Mihawk's evaluation of him raises a notch, but only just. He says nothing.

"…_is _there some reason you've docked in Windmill Village, today?" says the old man— some important figure here? The mayor, perhaps? As the seconds stretch and he sweats more rapidly in Mihawk's silence.

"…Passing curiosity," Mihawk says, which is the truth, and all he's willing to divulge. It doesn't make the old man very happy, wringing his hands tightly together.

"Well, if there's something I can do," he tries again, "We don't have much, but if it's in our power I'll gladly send for whatever you're in need of." _So you can get the hell out of the village, _his real sentiments go unsaid.

Mihawk tilted his head.

"A drink," he says, because he definitely needs one. The old man blanches, but is not much of a position to refuse him.

And thus he's reluctantly guided to Partys Bar— the sign outside is missing punctuation, how quaint— and the few patrons inside go silent as he sweeps through the door. Again, it isn't much, some small town bar with no doubt a small town selection, but unlike the rest of this miserable experience, there is something of worth here, as the female bartender and apparent owner quietly gasps and almost drops the glass she's cleaning on the floor.

She's not curious like the rest of her fellows . She's fearful, but not like the old mayor. She recognizes him— not as a warlord. There's _familiarity _in her eyes. And dawning realization, before she ducks her head and avoids his piercing gaze.

He takes a seat directly at the counter.

"…Is there something I can do for you?" her voice is light, deceptively calm as she looks up and meets his eye without shying away, despite her fear just moments before. Here is another person that might be worthy of a shred of thought. Her hands are shaking faintly.

"More than you might care to, I suspect," Mihawk says— he rests a hand on the counter, casual and non-threatening, but she flinches all the same.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," she counters— oh but she does, she_ does, _as she stares into his eyes and tries to hide that she knows them, knows the color and what that color means, so he simply says nothing and stares her down until her nerve slowly crumbles beneath the piercing eye of the hawk, and still she _says nothing _until finally— at long last, a test of patience for them both—

"Why are you here?" her voice is brittle. She sets down her glass and abandons the pretense of simple barmaid, transforming into… something else. Mihawk says nothing. Finds that her question is something he has no answer for. The silence stretches, and she tries again, something different but just as searching. "Why after all this time?"

"Curiosity," he says slowly, repeating his earlier words and she doesn't seem to like the answer.

"That's it?" There's a line between her brow, and a sharp increase in volume. "Do you think that's good enough a reason? No word, just appearing out of the blue— Why? Why now? What are you hoping for?"

"I don't know."

The answer is as surprising to her as it is to him. She settles down, only just. A few villagers across the room, present from the beginning, are warily looking on.

"This guy bothering you, Makino?" One says, putting up a show of bravado. The barmaid— Makino— hesitates, chews her lip and clearly things about it (not that any puny villager could throw _him _out of a bar) but comes to a decision. It's not what Mihawk expects.

"No, but thanks, guys," she says, with a smile for their benefit. "I've got this. He's just a little lost, that's all."

Oh, that stings; this woman is no swordswoman, but her tongue cuts sharply as any blade might. She turns back to him, regarding him quietly as the other patrons go back to their drinks, muttering and shooting looks at Mihawk's back.

"Did you come to take him away?" she asks, marking a turning point in the conversation that she finally refers to… that.

This answer is easy. "Absolutely not."

Makino huffs, but thinks. Leans forward into both elbows, staring squarely at him across the bar.

"Then I'll ask you again. What are you hoping to get out of this?"

He owes no answer to some strange woman in a bar who knows more things than she should and is not afraid to dangle this knowledge over his head, apparently, but… it's been so long. For years this itch has turned into a burning curiosity that refuses to leave him in peace, and perhaps had not done so since the day that woman left his life and with that tiny, ridiculous bundle in her arms—

He opens his mouth to say… something to that effect, but not quite, but not at all, and it's all taken out of his hands anyway when the door to the bar bangs open and a tiny, black haired, absolutely mud-covered child barges in and goes right to the bar, triumphantly waving a fist over his head.

"Makino!" he says, loud and unafraid, "Makino, look! I was at th' creek but I slipped onna rock and _bashed my toof out!" _

Sure enough he's holding a bloody tooth in his hand as he wiggles onto a bar stool and smears mud all over the counter.

"Oh, Luffy, please, now's not the time—" Makino tries to salvage the situation, frantically looking back and forth between two separate problems as Mihawk recoils to avoid getting mud splattered on his sleeve, and the motion catches the attention of the small child who whips his head around and finally notices the stranger he's climbed right up next to. His eyes bulge as he takes it all in, lingering on the long coat, the hat, and the—

"_Whoah," _he gasps, "Mister, you've gotta _really _cool sword! Are you a pirate?"

Ah, Mihawk thinks, looking down at a child covered head to toe in mud, all the more in contrast with his wide, eager, shining yellow eyes— the very same shade he's seen before, in mirrors, and reflected in the frightened eyes of terrified foes just moments from being vanquished.

Too distinctive indeed.

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In which Makino would absolutely throw down with a warlord if the situation called for it; (i fiddled around so much with this that I forgot about it whoops i'm still probably going to come back and fiddle with this blblblbl)


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